


You Can Show Me Your Heart

by TheMipstaz



Series: There's a Light in the Dark [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Awkward Liam Payne, BAMF Liam Payne, Bullying, Established Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, F/F, Female Harry Styles, Female Liam Payne, Female Louis Tomlinson, Female Zayn Malik, Fluff, Gender or Sex Swap, Happy Ending, Meet-Cute, Multi, Nonbinary Character, OT5 Friendship, Other, Strap-Ons, Trans Female Character, Trans Harry, Trans Harry Styles, Vaginal Fingering, nonbinary Niall, since we're alone AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: Louis Tomlinson hates a lot of things: people messing with her sisters, vegetables, that hot yoga class Harry once made her sign up for, Liam Payne, revising. The list goes on. But she hates one thing on that abbreviated list far more than any of the others.Vegetables are absolute rubbish no matter what you do to them, and no health kick Harry goes on will ever convince Louis otherwise.But a close second to kale salad on Louis’ list is Liam fucking Payne. Or, in other words, the most ridiculously fit person Louis has ever seen.





	You Can Show Me Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Since We're Alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEc5RJ3u5gk) since it looks like I might actually follow through on that one fic per Flicker track that I said I was going to do??? Amazing. This was originally just going to be a cis girl AU, but then Harry became trans and Niall became nonbinary because why the fuck not. 
> 
> Ch. 2 coming soon! In which you find out Liam is ace hooray! 
> 
> Reblog on [Tumblr](http://nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com/)!

Louis Tomlinson hates a lot of things: people messing with her sisters, vegetables, that hot yoga class Harry once made her sign up for, Liam Payne, revising. The list goes on.

But she hates one thing on that abbreviated list far more than any of the others. Vegetables are absolute rubbish no matter what you do to them, and no health kick Harry goes on will ever convince Louis otherwise. Though, she will admit the Americans might’ve been on to something when they started frying everything that fits into a pan and a few things that don’t.

But a close second to kale salad on Louis’ list is Liam fucking Payne. Or, in other words, the most ridiculously fit person Louis has ever seen. Louis isn’t sure if the girl knows what body fat looks like. And there’s not a single bloody sport Liam doesn’t play, if not captain the school team of.

Now, Louis prides herself on being a spectacular footie player, but even she might grumblingly admit Liam isn’t half bad. Once she’s done ogling Liam’s tits. It’s not her fault! Liam’s out and about in just a sports bra, breasts bouncing all over the bloody place and sweat trickling down her back.

Honestly, she’s worse than Harry. Which absolutely isn’t true because Harry hasn’t worn a bra to school all week.

“What’re you laughing about?” Speak of the braless devil. Harry plops herself next to Louis and kicks her legs into Louis’ lap. Her long skirt flares everywhere in a billow of garish floral print. Her longer legs knock Louis’ notebook off to fall between the cracks of the bleachers down to the muddy ground. “Oops?” Harry’s smug smile doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“Laughing about how much of a slag you are,” Louis retorts, though she grabs Harry’s bony ankle so her legs don’t slide off.

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Louis’ hand snakes out lightning-fast to pinch Harry. She aims for a nipple, but redirects last second when she remembers Harry complaining about her sore chest.

Harry squeals and nearly pitches off the bleachers after the notebook.

“See,” Louis smirks, “still not wearing a bra.”

Harry pouts. “Louis, I don’t take those nasty estrogen pills for no one to admire these.” She does a little a shimmy.

Louis rolls her eyes fondly. “I’m sure Zayn’s very grateful. Oi, did you shave your legs?” Louis pats at Harry’s calves under the skirt and sure enough finds them smooth. “You hate shaving.”

Harry shrugs and tries to look innocent. Her wide eyes and pouty lips might have worked if Louis hadn’t spent the past year listening to Harry bitch about cutting herself every time she tried before giving up.

“You might have better luck pulling if you just taped a big _Niall, please fuck me I promise Zayn won’t mind_ sign on your arse.”

“At least I’m not staring at Niall’s tits everyday after school,” Harry laughs, arms protectively crossed over her chest to ward off anymore attacks.

“Ahem,” Louis says primly and gestures to her open backpack, “I was studying like a responsible student who wants to pass her A levels, excuse you.”

“What’s this I hear about Tommo being responsible?” Zayn’s head peers around the corner, tongue pressing to the back of her teeth when she grins at them. Louis sticks her tongue out.

Zayn clambers up and immediately gets a lapful of Harry. “Zayn!”

“Hey, babes,” Zayn manages around a mouthful of curls.

“Disgusting,” Louis throws her pen at them, having given up any pretense of studying, “get a fucking room.”

Harry flips Louis off without looking, too busy sighing while Zayn sucks on her tongue. Louis rolls her eyes even though neither of them can see it. She briefly considers throwing herself off the creaky seats after her lost notebook.

Once Zayn’s hands slip under Harry’s shirt to cup a breast, Louis slaps a hand over her eyes. “Okay, and that’s my cue to go.”

Harry snorts while Louis edges around them. She pushes back her hair and swipes at a bit of her lip gloss caught on Zayn’s cheek. “Like you haven’t seen us both naked, you prude.”

“I’m all for getting naked with you,” Louis agrees, dropping back to the ground and looking up at them, “but not on school property.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “What about that time in the second floor loo—”

“In broad daylight,” Louis amends. “Now, don’t get expelled for public indecency or sommat. I need you two to make this shit hole worth coming to everyday.”

“No promises,” Harry sing-songs while Louis walks away.

Louis shakes her head fondly and wanders to the underside of the bleachers. She really does have homework that she may or may not do. She squeezes through the metal scaffolding holding up the elevated seats and begins picking her way by way of the slats of sunlight that slant through the dark. By the third time she’s tripped and nearly brained herself, Louis begins to wonder if she should just go buy a new notebook. Maybe she can nick one of Lottie’s.

Eventually, she scrambles back towards where she came in, weaving through the steel beams, prize in hand. Louis notes with satisfaction that the paper is only a little scuffed and definitely still good enough for her maths problems tonight. Maybe the dirt will even cover up some of her mistakes.

Patting herself on the back for that realization, Louis trips and tumbles the rest of the way out from under the seats. The notebook goes flying and splats loudly in a puddle of mud. Louis sighs. Of fucking course. She lets her forehead thump to the grass in defeat.

Is this the universe’s way of telling her to stop calling Harry a slag so often?

“Er, hello? Is, uh, is this yours?”

Louis stifles a groan and rolls over. Sure enough, silhouetted against the sky blinks none other than Liam fucking Payne—sweaty forehead creased adorably and soft brown eyes blinking in concern. In her hand droops the ruined notebook.

Since laying in the grass until it swallows her whole is unfortunately not a viable option, Louis slowly hauls herself to her feet. She takes the notebook with a “Thanks, Payne,” because, contrary to popular belief, she’s not a complete knob.

Before Louis can slink off and die of embarrassment, Liam blurts out, “You know my name?” She actually claps a hand over her pretty mouth, eyes wide like she can’t believe she just said that. Is that a blush on her cheeks?

“Face like yours? Pretty sure every boy in the school knows your name.” Turns out Liam isn’t the only one who says dumb shit without thinking. Louis would groan at herself if she wasn’t so distracted by the way that is so definitely a blush.

“And you,” Liam breathes wonderingly, voice quiet like it’s a secret.

“As I know your name, I think it’s only fair you know mine.” Louis sticks out a hand, but Liam beats her to the punchline.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Liam exhales in a rush. “You, er, you got suspended last year for getting into a fight.”

Louis puffs up with pride. “Broke that prick’s fucking nose.”

Liam winces.

“Don’t worry, love, he totally deserved it. Called Zayn a fucking terrorist. You know Zayn?”

“We have art together. Bloody brilliant, Zayn is. I’m a bit of a lost cause, so she helps me sometimes.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Payno,” Zayn says from the edge of the bleachers, looking cool as a cucumber and completely unabashed by the massive hickey on her neck. Honestly, it’s bigger than fucking Russia. Zayn hops down and claps Liam on the shoulder. “You’re improving loads.”

Liam shoots her a grateful look, then spies the swollen red of her lips and disheveled state of her hair. Liam goes bright red.

Louis opens her mouth to tell Zayn to shove off, but Harry’s lazy drawl interrupts, “Oh, hello, Liam.”

Louis wonders if she stares hard enough at the side of Harry’s head, will it explode? Only one way to find out.

“Hi.” Liam looks taken aback as Harry tumbles off the bleachers, trips on her skirt dragging on the ground, and all but throws herself at Louis.

Louis catches her with a grunted, “Christ,” and considers dropping her anyway.

Harry lets out a breath, elegantly flips her hair out of her face, and smiles winningly. “So, do you like bananas?”

Liam opens her mouth, then creases her forehead and purses her lips like she isn’t quite sure if she heard Harry correctly. Which is about on par for most people’s first interactions with Harry. And second. And sometimes third if they get that far.

When Liam finally seems to get her thoughts in order enough to try again, a shrill whistle cuts her off. “Payne, what the hell do you think you’re doing over there?”

Liam turns big apologetic eyes to Louis like Louis is going to chew her out for being in the middle of practice. “I’m really sorry.” She gestures helplessly over her shoulder to the football pitch.

“It’s fine. I—”

“Payne! Get over here _now_!”

Liam winces, stammers out another, “Sorry, sorry,” and jogs away.

Louis sighs and watches her bum longingly. Then she really does drop Harry, who protests loudly. “‘Do you like bananas?’ Really, Haz?”

“It’s an important question! We can’t let you date someone who might not have enough brain cells to see that the _Musa_ genus clearly contains the most superior fruit. You deserve better.”

“Dating?” snorts Louis, turning her back to the pitch to start the walk home. “Who said anything about that?”

Zayn hands her backpack over. “What, so you’re just looking for a little fun? Me and Harry could help with that, bro.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees distractedly, still thinking about the flutter of Liam’s eyelashes and the bite-able birthmark on her neck. “Yeah, probably.”

* * *

“Niall!”

“Liam!” Niall shouts back into the phone, laughing. “What’s the craic?”

“Missed you at school today,” Liam confesses, tweaking the handlebar of her bike as it starts to wobble. “How’s the knee?”

“Still a piece of shit,” Niall chirps. “But I’ll be up and about with crutches in a couple days, so you don’t have to keep bringing me work.”

Liam distracts Niall with more updates of what they’ve missed with the football team—“Hailee only flipped off Coach when his back was turned three times today; that’s progress”—and their hard as bollocks geography class—“Can’t remember all those bloody American states for the life of me. Why’ve they got to have so many, Niall? Don’t they know I need to pass this class?”

In return, Niall tries to convince Liam they should train Watson to retrieve stuff. “Hear me out, like those service dogs, you know.”

“You do remember that I can barely get him to sit on most days?”

While Niall ponders aloud if Watson would be tall enough to reach the crisps in the cupboard, Liam exhales in a rush, “And I kinda talked to Louis today,” before she can lose her nerve. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears that she can barely hear Niall’s reply.

Niall immediately stops trying to guess how many beer cans could fit in Watson’s mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam’s grateful that Niall can’t see the unbidden, goofy smile on her face.

“What’s this, I’m gone for a couple days and my little Liam’s gone and grown up!” Niall crows. “Tell me everything, petal. Don’t leave a single thing out.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Liam argues. She coasts up Niall’s driveway and locks her bike to the front porch. “I just picked up her notebook she dropped and gave it back to her.”

“True love if I’ve ever heard it,” Niall declares while Liam peels back the welcome mat for the spare key.

“And Louis’ friends were there too.” Liam jiggles the stubborn lock until it clicks open.

“Not the hot one and clumsy one!” Niall shouts from the living room couch as Liam opens the door. Their voice carries easily over the low drone of golf from the telly.

Liam rings off and yells back, “Yeah, Zayn and Harry.” She ducks into the kitchen, grabs two bags of crisps for the black hole Niall calls their stomach,and walks to where Niall lays on the sofa, bandaged and swollen leg propped up.

Niall makes grabby hands and then a pleased noise when Liam tosses them the snacks. “Don’t tell your mum, but I’m definitely kidnapping you. Da just ignores me now whenever I ask for anything, and Greg says I’m gonna get fat.” They rip open the crisps and pops a handful into their mouth. “Like I feckin’ care.”

“More of you to love,” Liam assures Niall with a pat on their tummy. She sits on the floor next to Niall and slips off her bag.

Niall makes a less pleased noise when Liam begins meticulously extracting worksheets and textbooks. “Only you, Liam Payne, would torture a cripple with,” Niall gives an exaggerated shudder, “ _schoolwork_.”

Before Liam can hunch defensively and flush at the accusation, but Niall smacks a wet kiss to the top of her head. Liam laughs and knocks Niall’s snapback off their head.

* * *

“Who goes to their friend’s house after school to actually work?” Louis demands when Harry opens the door with a suspiciously Calculus-textbook-shaped object under her arm.

“Most people?” Zayn guesses from over Harry’s shoulder.

“People who don’t understand integrals,” Harry chips in, stepping aside to let Louis in.

Louis ignores them in favor of throwing her backpack aside and making a beeline for the kitchen. When she dropped by the house to make sure the girls got home in one piece, she had sighed forlornly at the nearly bare refrigerator, closed the door on the half stick of celery and empty milk carton, and shot a text to her mum.

Louis barely hears Harry say, “We’ll be upstairs,” over the rumble of her stomach as she opens the refrigerator door. She wolfs down two thirds of a ham sandwich, downs two glasses of milk, takes a moment to thank the universe for reliable Anne Twist, and is nibbling on her third shortbread biscuit before she realizes Zayn and Harry have disappeared. Brushing off crumbs from her fingers, Louis heads upstairs.

She hears them before she sees them—long drawn out moans, the creaking of Zayn’s wooden bed frame, heavy breathing, and wet slaps of skin on skin. Louis can’t help the low lurch of arousal in her stomach, warmth trickling down her spine. She pushes open Zayn’s ajar door to see Harry on her hands and knees—back arched, thighs trembling. The long line of her throat curves and flexes while Zayn grips her hair. Rucked up around her middle, Harry’s skirt flutters every time Zayn pounds into her.

“Gonna be a good girl?” Zayn croons into Harry’s ear, front pressed all along Harry’s spine. Her hips roll languidly. She runs a gentle hand over Harry’s nipple, smirks into the delicate skin behind Harry’s ear when she whimpers. “For me?” Harry gasps louder when Zayn’s fingernails drag down her chest, controlled and light. “For Lou?”

Harry’s eyes flutter open, unfocused. Her slack mouth falls open, lips swollen and tongue pink. Louis’ knees go weak at Harry’s hooded gaze, the bounce of her small tits with each thrust, the raspy, “Yes,” that Louis can barely make out.

Louis feels heat creep up her neck, gather between her legs and dampen her knickers.

“Then come.”

Harry’s spine goes taut and she cries out. Her arms tremble, but before she can fall, Louis swoops in and pulls her in for a heady kiss. Harry can’t do much more than sigh into Louis’ mouth, but Louis doesn’t mind. She combs a hand through Harry’s sweaty curls and sucks on Harry’s rapid pulse while Zayn pulls out. She unclips the strap-on and tosses it aside.

“Zayn fucked you good, hmm, love?” Louis murmurs into Harry’s shoulder, mouthing at the freckles there. She tugs down the waist of Harry’s skirt, smooths it like that will somehow hide the lube trickling down her thighs and the pretty flush on her chest. “You did so good. You look so beautiful.”

Harry hums. She fingers lazily at the button of Louis’ jeans, uncoordinated and all but leaning on Louis to stay upright.

Zayn’s fingers soon join Harry’s, deftly pulling at the zip.

Louis gasps into Harry’s skin when Harry’s warm fingers dip down to where she’s warm and slick. Zayn reaches around Harry to tug Louis’ jeans halfway down her thighs so Harry can finger her in earnest, rhythmic and unrelenting. Harry catches Louis’ lips in a messy kiss, tongue running over Louis’ teeth. The hand not making Louis see stars cups her jaw, trails down her collarbones, pinches a nipple.

Over Harry’s shoulder, Zayn leans in with dark eyes and rests her hands on Harry’s hips. “You’re so desperate for it, babes.” Louis shivers at Zayn’s voice, grinds harder against Harry’s hand. “Almost as desperate as Haz was earlier. Should’ve seen her, just panting for my cock. Couldn’t even wait to take off her skirt before I fucked her.”

“Fuck.” Louis whines into Harry’s mouth, hips stuttering. Harry’s fingers jerk when Zayn’s hand sneaks beneath her skirt to find the curve of her bum again, to trace the warmth slicking her inner thighs. Harry’s clever fingers curl, Louis gives into the pleasure swelling in her stomach, and Zayn’s dark eyes hungrily drink in Louis’ heaving chest when she sags forward.

“Easy,” Zayn steadies them both. She expertly maneuvers their tangled limbs in a way born of much practice until the three of them sprawl somewhat comfortably over the comforter. Harry yawns and curls close to Louis. Zayn’s hand links with Louis over Harry’s hip.

“Didn’t get you off,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s curls, hand halfheartedly reaching for Zayn.

Zayn snorts and slots her knees behind Harry’s. “What d’you think we were doing before you got here?”

Harry yawns widely, teeth flashing like a cat. “Not fucking integrals.”

* * *

No matter what her shithead friends say, Louis Tomlinson does not _pine_ . She just likes to think about Liam. A lot. Enough that she gets more than one annoyed look from a teacher after she can’t tell the class about the theme of _The Awakening_ because she’s wondering if Liam’s lips are as soft as they look. In her defense, she thinks trying to decide if Liam’s flush would spread down to her chest if Louis kissed her neck is a much better use of time and brain power than thinking about Edna Pontellier anyway.

But that’s not pining, damn it. Because Louis does not throw herself at someone’s feet, bat her eyelashes prettily, and wait to be noticed. She does not pause her life for a cute bum and lickable birthmark. That’s how people get left behind with a handful of kids and no way to provide for them, Tomlinsons especially.

So Louis does not reorient her entire world to revolve around a new sun with curly hair and genuine eyes and killer legs. That’s Zayn’s job.

Or at least that’s what Louis firmly tells herself whenever she spends too long pondering Liam’s favorite football team or how she takes her tea.

And that’s a bit strange too, the way Louis doesn’t just ruminate on how Liam’s thighs might feel around her ears or how her fingers might grip Louis’ hair. Instead, Louis also contemplates how Liam might look first thing in the morning—face pillow-creased with sleep, breath stale—and what music Liam prefers—Drake to work out and Frank Ocean to study.

But that’s not pining.

Louis stops walking. “Am I pining?” she whispers, aghast.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Zayn plucks her earbud out and frowns at Louis’ pinched face.

Louis is saved from having to repeat herself by the loud slamming of a locker door down the hall. She and Zayn share a puzzled look and move towards the commotion.

They round the corner of the girls locker room, which should be empty at this time in the afternoon. Instead, they see Harry jump back as a burly boy bangs her locker closed, nearly catching her fingers. “What’re you doing here, perv? This is the _girls_ locker room,” sneers the boy. He and two others leer closer like a pack of wolves closing in.

Harry stumbles back. She winces when her back hits the metal and shrinks closer to Liam, who firmly steps in front of her. Liam looks a bit pale, but unwaveringly meets the boy’s eyes even though she has to tip her head up a bit. “We’re just here to grab some gear,” Liam says tightly. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble’s not with you, darling.” The boy’s eyes rake up and down Liam’s body before turning on Harry. “Trouble’s with this _lad_ sneaking in to creep on the girls, yeah?”

Harry turns her face into Liam’s shoulder.

Liam balls her fists up.

“Now, move aside.” He reaches past Liam for Harry.

Louis lunges forward with a snarl, but stops dead when Liam shoves the hand away and clocks the bloke in the face.

He reels back with a howl of pain, blood already seeping through the hands clutching his nose. His mates back up too, clearly surprised. “You little bitch!” He swings again, but Liam smoothly ducks and her knuckles split his lip this time.

“You’re right,” she says coldly. She looks down on where he sprawls out on the ground, dazed. “There are creepy lads causing trouble in the girls locker room.”

Louis finds her voice again and hisses, “So get the fuck out of here.”

The boys glance at the new odds that Louis and Zayn’s appearance tips in favor of the girls. They make the right decision to cut their losses and shove past, but not before spitting in Louis’ direction. Louis doesn’t take her eyes off them until they vanish around the corner.

Then she relaxes her tense stance and turns to see Zayn cradling the teary form of Harry, who whispers _I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay_ in a chant meant to reassure herself as much as it is to reassure Zayn. Liam holds one of Harry’s hands tightly, the tense line of her shoulders slumped.

“Payne.”

Liam looks up, face drawn like what just happened has finally sunk in. How badly it could’ve gone.

“That,” Louis eyes her bloody knuckles and Zayn’s tight grip on Harry’s shoulders and tries not to think about if Liam hadn’t been there, “what you did—thank you.” She tries to pour every chaotic emotion rattling inside her chest into those simple words—bone-shaking relief, fear-tinged adrenaline, heart-pounding admiration, grudging respect. Louis doesn’t forget about people who protect her friends.

Liam must comprehend some of it because she smiles weakly and shrugs. “Used to get a lot of crap at my old school.” She rubs circles around the cross on Harry’s hand. “It fucking sucks. Not about to let it happen to someone else.”

Louis nods like she understands even though she fucking doesn’t. Not one bit. How someone could want to dampen the brilliance behind Liam’s smile or lay a hand that was anything less than loving on her skin. Could find something wrong in the crinkle of her eyes when she smiles.

But Louis doesn’t know how to articulate that, so instead she offers, “Don’t suppose you like milkshakes, Liam?”

And that’s how Liam somehow finds herself tucked into a corner booth of a grimy-but-not-too-grimy diner with Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Niall, who Zayn encouraged her to invite even though Louis looked a bit stormy about it. But then Louis saw the magnetic way Niall drifted towards Harry’s long fingers and Zayn’s dark tattoos and seemed mollified.

Liam doesn’t have many friends. It comes with the territory of never missing a homework assignment, reviewing class notes the day after she takes them, and studying for exams a month in advance. It doesn’t leave much time for her music, which in turn leaves hardly any time for parties or midnight chippy runs or other teenager-esque activities she hasn’t been invited to for ages. Rita will call her up occasionally, and Charlie takes her out when they’re both in town, but Liam’s social life isn’t exactly up to rom-com standards.

That’s her excuse for why she feels so awkward around Louis. She just hasn’t been out and about with anyone other than Niall in a hot second. She’s just forgotten how to interact with someone who isn’t Irish, insatiably hungry all the time, and has already accepted all of Liam’s flaws. That’s why she covers her mouth when she smiles too widely at Louis explaining the first time she had to burp one of the twins. That’s why she apologizes and quickly cuts short her own boring story about how she started boxing. Liam’s just a little rusty meeting new people, is all.

It has nothing to do with the way Louis’ eyes shine with mirth when Niall finishes their milkshake in record time and begins sneaking pulls of Harry’s. Or how Louis sprawls halfway over Liam’s lap to tug on Zayn’s hair and then seems to forget to move back into her own space.

“Loosen up, would ya?” Louis nudges Liam with one shoulder while Zayn judges a belching contest between Niall and Harry. “You’re the worst pillow ever.”

Liam only stiffens up more, face going hot. She fiddles with her sweating glass and offers a confused, “Er, sorry.”

Louis rolls her eyes and nestles closer to Liam anyway. “S’not your fault, I suppose. You’re just too bloody fit.” She pokes at Liam’s side and nods to herself. “What’re you, like, 4% body fat?” Without waiting for an answer, she leans her head on Liam’s shoulder and sighs dramatically. “We’ll make do, Payno.”

Liam doesn’t know how Louis effectively complaining about her can sound so warm and affectionate, like a languid cat basking by a crackling fire, but she doesn’t care to find out. She would much rather rest her cheek on Louis’ head, let the ring of condensation around her milkshake thicken, and listen to Niall accuse Zayn of being a _feckin’ biased judge_ and demand a recount.

* * *

Liam winces when she glances at the time displayed on her clock for the umpteenth time, but finishes lacing up her trainers anyway. It’s earlier than her usual morning jog before school, but she figures running beats tossing and turning for another hour and getting up anyway. So Liam tugs on her jacket and tiptoes downstairs as quietly as she can. She carefully _snicks_ the front door shut, and she’s home free.

She forgot her phone and headphones, rookie mistake, but it’s too much of a bother to try to sneak back in for them. There’s only so many times Liam can get lucky with the creaky floorboards. Unfortunately, that means she doesn’t have much to distract her mind while her feet pound the pavement and her breath puffs out in white clouds.

She turns the corner and spots an abandoned soda can in the gutter. Her stomach jolts when she remembers the first time she walked to her usual lunch table hidden in the corner and found Niall guffawing with Harry while Zayn whispered something into Louis’ ear with a smirk. She stopped walking, she was so surprised, until Louis threw a pea at her. “Cat got your legs, Liam?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Liam grumbled, but slid in next to Harry anyway. She couldn’t stop smiling all through lunch. And then again the next day when it happened again. Niall told her she looked like a nutter, but Liam didn’t care.

Liam dutifully watches her step when she passes in front of the yellow house with the tree roots twisting the pavement. She cuts through the carpark of the Chinese place they had gotten takeaway from after the first football game Louis, Zayn, and Harry had attended with Niall and Rita to cheer her on.

It had been a hard loss, Liam’s team outnumbered and outmatched despite their best efforts. Muddy and downtrodden, Liam tried to excuse herself to spend the night in. Maybe she’d relax and take another look at the melody that’d been eluding her. But Harry shouted over her excuses and wrapped her in a hug, sweaty jersey and all. Niall waved a massive THE PAYNE TRAYNE  banner with a poorly drawn train car with Liam’s face pasted on. Zayn had bitten back a laugh and solemnly handed Liam over the even bigger cardboard cutout of her face. And Louis had thrown herself onto Liam’s back, tugged her ponytail, and reassured Liam that the ref had been absolutely dreadful. Liam disagreed, but Louis’ arms wrapped around her neck made her gut tingle with warmth anyway.

Sweat slides down Liam’s temple after a mile or two, only to rapidly cool and cause goosebumps to break out over her skin. She counts three prowling cats and a bright-eyed racoon scurrying home before her eyes land on something that startles her to a stop. Liam squints, sure the lack of light has just tricked her into thinking that figure hunched on a front porch looks like—

“Louis?” Liam feels silly when the name slips out. Louis can’t even stay awake during a 52 minute maths period. How could she get up before dawn?

But then the dark figure uncurls. “Liam? What the hell are you doing here?”

Liam frowns at the bundle wrapped up in Louis’ arms. “Are you supposed to curse in front of babies?” Because that is undeniably a miniature human in Louis’ arms, Liam realizes as she walks closer.

“When they refuse to sleep all night, yes,” Louis says, though her delicate touch belies her dry tone. The blanket cocoon whimpers in protest anyway.

Before Liam can shuffle her feet or swipe self-consciously at the sheen on her forehead or generally make the situation awkward, Louis scoots over on the wooden step.

Liam sits down gratefully. “Thanks.”

“You looked like you were about to keel over.”

“At least I don’t look like a racoon.”

Louis huffs, bounces the baby a little, and glares at her. “No, you just smell like one.”

Liam grins. “Very witty, Tommo. Now are you going to introduce me to…”

“Doris, meet the most annoying person I know. Yes, even worse than Harry, if you can believe it. At least Harry doesn’t work out three times a day,” Louis says solemnly. Liam makes a noise of protest. “Liam, meet Doris.”

Liam dutifully leans close. “Hello, Doris.” She scrunches up her face at Liam, wail building up in her small, but mighty lungs. Liam brushes an errant curl from her face. “Don’t think she likes me much.”

“Probably because it’s who-the-fuck-knows o’clock at night and you decide to _go for a run_ of all things.” Louis rolls her eyes so hard Liam wonders if they can get stuck like that. “She must be able to smell the madness, like one of those bloodhounds.”

Liam raises an eyebrow and glances at the barest streaks of pink peeking over the roof of the house across the street. “Er, Louis, how long’ve you been out here?”

“Dunno,” Louis yawns, tracing Doris’ chubby cheek with a fingertip. “Long enough for her to stop crying. She was really going at it when I first came out here. Mum had a graveyard shift again, so I thought I’d let her get a few hours of sleep. What time is it? I didn’t bring my mobile.”

“We have school in a couple hours.”

Louis blinks and stares at Liam like she’s trying to tell if Liam’s taking the piss. All she sees is the pink light of dawn sloping over Liam’s nose. “Well, fuck.”

Liam makes a face. “When Doris’ first word is fuck, I’m blaming you.”

Louis hums. Her tired eyes blink slower and slower until it becomes too much of an effort to open her eyelids back up. Instead, she slouches and focuses on the first bird call of the day, on Doris squirming in her lap, on the rustle of Liam’s shirt. God, she could really use a smoke.

Liam takes advantage of Louis’ closed eyes. She drinks in the dark circles under Louis’ eyes, her fringe flat against her forehead, the exhausted hunch of her back, the peek of collarbone from under her loose shirt. She’s almost dizzy with the need to trace Louis’ sharp cheekbones, feel the soft line of her jaw, press into the curve of her stomach, taste the sunlight trickling over the tip of her nose.

The quiet stretches between them, a comfortable bubble that could pop at any moment. But Liam can’t resist scooching closer, under the pretense to coo over Doris some more, but mostly to feel Louis’ heat across the hair breadth of space between their sides, their bent legs. She holds her breath, like if she expands her lungs too much her side will accidentally brush Louis’ and shatter everything.

And then Louis’ head finds Liam’s shoulder, unabashedly bridging the gap without a second thought. She turns her face into Liam’s neck, nose pressed to Liam’s birthmark. She nudges Liam’s knee with her own until their thighs press together, a line of warmth that runs up to their sandwiched hips and shoulders. The delicate moment shivers, but doesn’t break.

Liam can breathe properly again.

“No one should be awake this bloody early,” Louis mumbles, breath puffing balmy into Liam’s skin. “But if I had to be, I guess I’m okay it’s with you.”

Liam ignores the ridiculous swoop of her belly and presses a quick kiss to Louis’ hair. “Me too.”

One of Louis’ hands finds Liam’s in her lap.

Between them, as the sun finally rises properly to beat away the shadows, as the air warms to slightly above frigid, as a car down the road rumbles to life, Doris finally quiets.

* * *

“Hello?” Liam winces. Her sore throat rasps like someone’s replaced her larynx with sandpaper. She’s already down to one kidney; she can’t afford to keep losing body parts left and right.

“Li- _am_!”

Liam winces again and holds her phone further from her ear. She checks to make sure she didn’t accidentally hit the speaker button. Then she notices the name flashing on her screen. “Louis?”

Louis stops her chant of Liam’s name in varying inflections and proceeds to giggle and whisper, “Liam, your name doesn’t sound real anymore. Are _you_ real anymore?”

Liam pinches the bridge of her congested nose and rolls over in bed to reach for her tissues. “Louis, tell me you’re not completely sloshed right now. It’s only, like, 11.”

“I am not! How dare—Nialler, quick, come here and tell Liam I’m not pissed.”

Liam hears some fumbling, and then, “H’llo, Leem. Louis is—Lou, what’m I sayin’? Ah, okay. Yes, Louis is not spectacularly drunk. A proper teetotaller, that one. Ya should be proud, petal.”

Liam sighs nasally, though has to mentally applaud Niall for managing to get their tongue around teetotaller when they’re clearly three sheets to the wind. Possibly four.

“See, love,” Louis says smugly, “Niall’s vouching for me. Bebe will too if I can find her.”

“Uh huh. And how high are you?”

“Higher than the fucking moon,” Louis snorts. “Zayn got the good shit from her cousin. Liam, I can _see_ the color red. Like if Zayn had a pet baboon, it’s arse would just,” Louis does an impressive imitation of an explosion, “my fucking mind.”

Liam grins despite herself, then promptly sneezes three times in a row. “Not that I wouldn’t love to talk about baboon backsides all night,” she sniffles and slumps back against her pillows, “but can I go back to bed?”

“No! We haven’t—I mean, if you want, we could, like, Haz, get the fuck off. What, no I don’t want to blow you. Go find Zayn. Stop pouting, you know I would, but I’ve Liam on the phone.”

“Hi, Liam!”

“Hi, Hazza.”

“Harold, go away, you’re distracting Liam. Yes, and me, now go snog Niall or something.”

“Bye, Hazza.”

“Right,” Louis says primly, “where were we?”

“Past baboon backsides, but before whatever was so important you felt you had to call me.”

“Right,” Louis repeats, but doesn’t go on.

Liam sighs, but it comes out fonder than she’d like. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“No!”

Liam hums, unconvinced.

“Maybe.” Liam can imagine Louis squinting thoughtfully, fingers twitching for a smoke. Or a joint, whatever’s closest, really.

“I’m sure you’ll remember tomorrow,” Liam lies. “We still on for footie?” When Louis confirms, she adds, “Drink some water before you go to bed, all of you. And make sure Niall doesn’t sleep with their knee at an odd angle. And Harry—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. I spend more hours looking after my sisters than you do at the gym. If I can get my girls to bed before 10, I can handle this lot. When you get here tomorrow, we’ll be in tip top shape. Well, maybe not tip top, but no one’ll’ve choked on vom and died, so.”

Liam smiles softly, cradling the phone close to her ear. “I know. Thank you. Goodnight, Louis.”

“Wait.” Liam can imagine Louis chewing on her lip in the following pause. “Before you go, I just.” Liam waits patiently, knows better than to prod and risk Louis hissing and curling up like a feral hedgehog. Or something equally as cute, yet impossibly stubborn. She’s rewarded when Louis slowly, carefully, like Zayn patiently picking tangles out of Harry’s curls, breathes, “I’m glad we found you.”

It shouldn’t make sense, if anything Liam’s the one who found Louis that day under the outdoor bleachers, but somehow it makes Liam’s chest goes tight anyway. Stupid cold must be spreading. “I’m glad you found me too.”

The line clicks dead, but Liam takes ages to fall back asleep.

* * *

“Who the fuck’s idea was this, eh?” Louis demands irritably, eyes scrunched closed against the sun. Where the fuck does that sodding ball of gas think it is, Los Angeles? Louis throws herself onto the grass and wills the throbbing in her head to seep into the ground through osmosis or something.

“Yours,” Zayn replies flatly, kicking Louis’ foot as she ambles past. “Couldn’t keep your feelings in your pants for one day. Just _had_ to see Liam today, didn’t you?”

Louis lifts her head just enough to glare until her neck cricks.

Harry stretches over near Liam, face determined even though Louis has seen newborn giraffes with more coordination than her. She’s probably just enjoying wiggling her bum in front of Zayn and Niall. Smart girl.

Liam and Niall pass the ball back and forth slowly, Niall testing out their brand new knee brace. The sleek black metal glints in the light, hinge sliding smoothly with Niall’s every move. Even Zayn has swapped out her trainers for cleats. Louis groans and hauls herself up.

In hindsight, a footie match sounded much better in theory than it is in practice. Niall’s injury means they’re more interested in laughing at Harry getting distracted by passing butterflies, and Louis has never even seen Zayn sweat. The girl may or may not have pores.

Which leaves Louis and Liam to actually carry the game. In other words, Louis whinges and pants and curses until she distracts Liam enough to steal the ball.

Finally, Louis admits defeat. She strips off her white shirt and collapses onto her back, waving her shirt in the air in surrender. “Enough! If we don’t take a lunch break soon, I might actually die.”

Across the field, Niall’s head perks up from where they’re weaving flowers into Harry’s hair. “Lunch?” they pipe hopefully.

“See, we’re starving poor Niall.” Louis squints up at Liam, who’s walked over. The sun halos Liam’s flushed face and silhouettes her. Louis can barely make out her crinkled eyes, which is a damn shame. All she can see are the strong lines of Liam’s shoulders, the jut of her hip where she has the ball propped, the flex of her calves. Louis sticks out a hand and refocuses on Liam’s dark face. “Now help me up.”

When Liam grasps Louis’ hand, Louis gives an almighty tug and sends Liam sprawling to the ground. The ball rolls away dejectedly. Louis grunts when Liam lands more on her than originally planned, but it’ll do. She still manages enough breath to wheeze, “Ha, I win.”

Liam rolls her eyes like she’s surprised at Louis’ intractable antics. Well, Louis assumes she does because their faces are so close Louis can’t actually see for herself. “Pretty we were playing football, not wrestling.”

“Still.” Louis tries not to enjoy the feeling of Liam pressed all along her body, Liam’s thigh slotted between hers, Liam’s lips inches away too much.

“You’re an absolute nutter, you know that?” Liam laughs into Louis’ neck, shoulders shaking.

Louis can feel it where their chests press flush. She grins, every bit as manic as Liam accused her. “You still love me, though.”

“Yeah,” Liam sighs, pressing her smile against Louis’ pulse. “I do.”

It should feel sticky and sweaty and more than a little gross, but Louis just holds Liam tighter. The stiff grass pokes her back, a rock has wedged itself under her arse, and Louis wants nothing more than to lay there forever with Liam in her arms. So naturally, because she can’t leave well enough alone, Louis prods at Liam and complains, “You’re like a load of bricks, Payno, muscle-y bricks. You’re crushing me. Lay off the protein powder, will you?”

“Calling me fat?” Liam shoots back, goodnaturedly. But she slowly leans back to rest on her haunches, which means she’s too far away.

So Louis immediately sits up and nearly cracks her head against Liam’s in her haste. Then she fists the collar of Liam’s shirt and crushes their mouths together. She licks the sweat dewing Liam’s top lip and chases the sweet taste of sunshine on her tongue.

Liam makes a muffled noise of surprise, and Louis almost pulls back with an apology crawling up the back of her throat. But then Liam swallows it down and surges closer, hands coming up to frame Louis’ cheeks. She thumbs Louis’ fluttering pulse point. Her knees bracket Louis’ hips, thighs flexing when Louis drags her hands along the smooth skin there.

Louis vaguely registers Harry and Niall whistling and whooping like the obnoxious bastards they are, but mostly she drowns in the way Liam runs fingers through Louis’ sweaty fringe and begins to smile so hard Louis gives up kissing her teeth.

Louis decides she doesn’t mind so much when Liam instead brushes her lips against the tip of Louis’ nose, the corner of her eyes crinkling.


End file.
